My Billionaire Boss (Book 2)(Erotic Romance) Read online

  My Billionaire Boss

  Book 2

  Lexi Black

  Copyright © 2013 by Lexi Black. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used, reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form without the prior written consent of the author.

  Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places, incidents and events are either the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 1

  I suppose there are gurus all over the world who could tell me how to relax and what I need to do to get myself in a calm, peace-filled state where my mind is open and all the answers flow toward me like lotus on a pond. If one of those masters happened to be in front of me at this moment, I would reach out, put both hands around his neck and shake him over and over screaming, “Why is everything so hard?!!!”

  But, there are no gurus here. Just Jim and I standing in the lobby of the Four Seasons while he tries to explain to me how he lost August and what the plan is for finding the young addict in a huge city we can’t possibly canvas effectively.

  “I thought you and your guys were supposed to stay with him,” I say, running my hands through my hair and pulling it back. “How could he possibly get away?”

  “We were packing everything up. He just slipped by us. He’s like a little blond kitten. He just squirms away,” Jim sighs. I don’t know what he does for Marcus when he’s not babysitting errant authors, but I can see this assignment is pushing him to his limit.

  “Someone has to be accountable for that kitten,” I scold. I can’t bear the thought of seeing August strung out, needle stung or dead. He’s too young, too beautiful of a soul to endure much more. “It is your responsibility, right?”

  “This isn’t about blame, Ms. Miller. We just need to find the kid.”

  “It isn’t about blame? It’s easy to say that when it’s your fault.”

  “Where’s your credit card?” Jim asks directly. I open my purse and dig the platinum Eliott House card out of the bottom, trying to hide the breath mints and Kleenex that insist on sticking to everything I pull out. Holding it up for Jim to see, I realize he wasn’t really asking about the card, but reminding me of my own lapse in good judgment that nearly resulted in the writer’s death.

  “I’m sorry, Jim,” I say, nodding. “How do we find him? Dagney Van Der Vine is in the lobby. We can’t go running around screaming his name and hoping he comes home”.

  “I’ve got Chris and Talbot on the street, checking every alley and bar in the neighborhood. Chloe’s circling the area he went to last time in the cab he took with your card. DeLong is getting his kit ready for anything, and Mr. Eliott has been apprised. I need you to look around the hotel. Van Der Vine and Davis are both used to seeing you here. Act like you’re looking for ice or a gift shop or something.”

  Nodding, I take off, still holding the strange note from Chloe in my hand. What dark secrets about Marcus does she want to tell me, and why now, when it was going so well? I take the elevator to the top floor, intending to work my way down. Jim’s right. This was Marcus’s floor and my presence won’t be noticed. Turning the corner, I am filled with the desire to find August, and the fear of what I will see if I am too late.

  I notice a white flash of hair down a side hall, and take off around the winding hallway to cut him off before the elevator so he can’t get away. I sense his motion and jump into the hall in front of him.

  “AHA!” I shout full of adrenaline, my sweat-stained hair clinging to my head.

  “Huh?” A deep resonant rings out, then adds, “HAH!”

  “Oh, gosh,” I say out loud when the fog clears from my eyes and I realize this isn’t August, but the blond intern following Jordan Davis down the hall.

  “Looking for someone, Ms. Miller?” He asks, a curious smile curling the corners of his mouth upward.

  “I was hoping to find Marcus, but I guess he’s already left. I’m surprised to see you still here,” I say, trying to play off the fact I look like a crazed track star running circles on the top floor.

  “I was about to say the same thing about you. Marcus left two days ago, I assumed you’d be with him.”

  “Why would you assume that?”

  “You are his girlfriend, aren’t you?” I can’t tell if he’s trying to get a scoop for Bookfeed or if he really cares. But, my life-long crush starts clashing with my conscious thoughts, making everything come out gooey, incoherent and flighty.

  “Why would you think that? Me and Mr. Eliott? No, um...no. We, well, we know each other. Not in the biblical ‘know’ sense but in the…you know, the ‘I know you’ sense of knowing someone. You know?”

  I stand there babbling in the hallway, momentarily forgetting August is missing, while both Jordan and the intern put on polite smiles and let me continue to run verbal circles until my tongue swells.

  “Well, I guess I got some wrong information,” Jordan says when I finally shut up. I watch his eyes flicker as he looks up and down my body. I’m no supermodel like the women Marcus is known for escorting, so I take it he believes me. “I seem to be getting a lot of wrong information from Eliott House lately.”

  “I don’t know anything about that. I’m just on call for Mr. Kalle,” I add defensively. Then I remember August is missing. “And, I should see to him.”

  “I thought you were looking for Mr. Eliott,” Jordan floats the thought out there. I ride on the tones of that beautiful podcast voice for a moment before I realize he wants an answer.

  “I…um…was looking on behalf of Mr. Kalle,” I say, praying he doesn’t ask me where August is hiding. The intern wraps her arms around her bag, and Jordan nods.

  “I have an appointment with you and Mr. Kalle for an interview tomorrow at my hotel. We will call your people with the room number once I check in. I’m not made of billions like your boyfr…er….your boss…so we won’t be in the same place there. I would like to spend more time with you though, Ms. Miller, so plan for a long day.”

  A long day? What does he think I’m already having? Wait. Did he just say he’d like to spend time with me? I’m going to spend time with Jordan Davis at his request? I’ve just fallen into wonderland.

  “That sounds magnificent,” I rasp, rubbing my tongue over my lips hoping to be cute, with a sprinkle of sexy thrown in as well. I think it might have worked because he winks at me before he taps his intern on the arm and they head toward the elevator together. I secretly stash myself behind a corner and watch the elevator doors close. Then I sprint around the floor looking for any sign of my runaway author.

  Five floors and two blisters later, I arrive back on the floor my room occupied. I still intend to keep looking, but I need a potty break and some better shoes. I dressed hoping Marcus would meet our flight in Boston and whisk me away. But now, all I can think about is my afternoon with Jordan; answering his questions, guiding my eyes down his athletic frame and running my fingers through his thick, sandy hair. So, Marcus gets the “I’m pretty tired” routine, and that means I can throw on some sneakers for the rest of the search and the ride to my flight.

  Walking in the door I see two workmen from the hotel coming out of August’s room with the pieces of the door Jim broke, shaking their head. I’m sure Eliott House is paying for the replacement so I don’t know why they look some grim.

  “Sorry about that,” I say, as if I had anything t
o do with it.

  “That’s fine, Ma’am. Is this your suite?”

  “Yes. Well, my room is the one on the right. The one that still has a door.”

  “Good to know,” the man nods slowly. “Your son told us to come back when he was finished with his words. Why don’t you give us a call when you check out.”

  “My son? My son lives in New York, I think.” He used to live in New York, with that “Risen” group. But, truthfully, I don’t know if he is alive or dead.

  “Your boyfriend, then,” the man looks at his coworker, and both grimace their disgust at the idea they’ve settled on as an explanation. The repairman stops as if he is going to say something, then shakes his head and keeps moving.

  My son? What could he…Oh my gosh. August!

  I run into August’s room to find him sitting in a chair with his feet up on the bed, a notebook in his lap, writing furiously.

  “August!” I run over to him and wrap my arms around him, hugging the author so tightly I feel his muscles contract beneath my grip. I brush the wild white hair to the side and look at his eyes. They seem fine. Putting my hand on his cheek, I attempt to connect with some part of him not swallowed by addiction or obsession. “Are you alright?”

  “Silver hornet, Miss Carrie,” he smiles, his eyes down.

  “You are high,” I scold. “Oh, August, how could you? I’ve tried so hard to watch over you and you sneak off and dope yourself up again. You’re going to die and I’m going to lose a big piece of my heart when it happens. Don’t you know that…”

  “I’m not high,” he says, pushing his hair out of his face so I can get a better look in his eyes. They look fine to me, vibrant green and piercing. “I’m working with my words. I went for a walk to clear the air and some words came to me. I needed to pencil them. But those men were making so much rackety rack the words were packing bags. I promise. I’m not high.”

  “I believe you,” I remark, hugging him a second time. He talks in the same odd cadence he writes in, but only when he is writing. I’m sure he wants me to leave him to his words as much as he wished the workmen away. I fish my phone out of my purse, subconsciously checking the credit card, and start to text Jim.

  “Please, Miss Carrie. Can I have ten minutes before the alarm? I need ten more minutes with my words.”

  “Everyone is scared, August. We have all been looking for you. You can write on Mr. Eliott’s private jet when we fly to Boston. But I have to tell Dr. DeLong where you are. I can’t let him believe you’re still out there. It would be like a lie.”

  “He’s the lie,” August looks down at the bruises DeLong’s shots have left on his arms. “I shoot better than him when I’m riding the thunder horse. 10 minutes. Please?”

  Against my better judgment, I pat him on the shoulder and leave him with his words. I change my shoes and check my specialty pass for Marcus’ jet. Gently, I peer in to see August still scribbling away. I go into the bathroom, closing the door but listening for any hint of a sound revealing the young man is running away. Safe and alone, I wrap my arm around my shoulders, then lean and kiss my forearm gently, allowing my lips to rub against the skin.

  “Yes, Jordan,” I say in my moment of fantasy, squeezing my shoulder and nuzzling my nose against my arm, kissing myself again and again, just like I did in 7th grade before the big slumber party where Stephanie Jenkins promised we would play “Spin the Bottle” and I practiced for that first kiss. “I’ve wanted you for the longest time. I always knew you would be mine.”

  I’m not sure how much time goes by as I fantasize and French kiss my forearm, but eventually I have to put a stop to this and get back on track. It’s so stupid, I tell myself. I’ve got Marcus Eliott, media mogul, billionaire and darling of the jet set eating out of my hands, and I’m going to toss him to the curb for Jordan Davis — a man with much less money, few holdings and power only because his websites guarantee it. I’m giving up “solid as a rock” for “floating in the wind” and I can’t help myself.

  One final arm kiss and I bid fantasy Jordan goodbye and send the text to Jim that August is fine and all will be well. Of course, no matter what the text said - the next half hour of clomping bodyguard boots, Dr. DeLong’s protracted examination, and a game of twenty questions was inevitable. August took it all in stride, answering politely. He must have finished with his words. Although from the pale, shaken frame I could see through the window, his words were finishing him.

  ~

  Chapter 2

  No lines, no strip search/shouting/scanners, no getting crammed into a seat with some strange man leaking over into your space and a screaming baby behind me --- I’m telling you, I could get used to this private jet thing real quickly. Alas, I’m sure Jordan is on American Airlines sweating it out, or in a car driving to Boston. Jordan has a lot of power and influence in the media, but Marcus has it made. Maybe I’m intimidated by all this wealth. Why else would I be willing to turn Marcus down for Jordan? Marcus is handsome, generous and good to me. Jordan is an internet crush with all his money tied up in a website conglomerate. What am I thinking?

  But, then again, I’m pretty sure I saw a spark in his eye when I told him I wasn’t Marcus’ girlfriend. And, I’m also hopeful he saw the spark in mine. Entering the jet, I decide to let the whole issue go for a while and enjoy the lap of luxury while I still have it.

  “Madam, and Monsieur Kalle,” the French attendant guides us to a private area of the plane. Dr. DeLong, and Jim will be in another section and Chloe took the car up to Boston with some of the other “assistants.” Clearly a former model, the attendant is still so stunning I can’t place her age at all. She could be thirty or fifty. I’m sure she is a conquest of Marcus’ as well — just like Chloe, Missy and Suzanne, the personal secretary. Does he think that is my destiny too? Will I be a washed up girlfriend working as some kind of babysitter for the talent for the rest of my life? I’ll stick with the internet king.

  “Thank you,” I say as we make our way to a secure area that looks like it doubles as Mr. Eliott’s bedroom and office. August stretches out on a couch facing the window, bouncing up and down on the cushions like a kid. I sit at the table, letting my legs rest on the chair opposite me. If the young writer wasn’t here, I’d be out of my bra the second we took off.

  “My name is Gabrielle. This will be a quick flight,” she says in English enmeshed in her French accent. I want to nod with every word she says. “If you should need of anything my name to call.”

  “Excusez-moi, pourriez-vous nous mettre une cruche d'eau avec du citron. Je suis très soif.” August asks in perfect French. She returns with a pitcher of water with lemon and two glasses. Real crystal glasses! She smiles at him as if he has given her the gift of a lifetime. He nods. “Merci.”

  “I’m impressed, August. I didn’t know you spoke French. You’re amazing,” I pile on praise. He’s gotten little of that on this trip.

  “Americans think languages are so hard to learn. In Europe most people speak several, plus we have to learn American English, because you guys don’t know anything else,” he replies shyly. The compliment seems to overwhelm him. “Besides, French is a beautiful wrapper for words. It is like coating them with warm caramel. English is more like storing your words in plastic wrap.”

  Gabrielle returns and tells August in French we will be taking off in ten minutes. I realize she will not attempt to speak to me again. Thank goodness August proves a willing translator. The attendant turns the TV on and leaves us in peace, handing him the remote. I’m surprised he’s interested but he starts flipping channels. He stops on Entertainment Tonight when we see his picture appear on the screen.

  “Reclusive genius, August Kalle is having a rough transition on his first American reading tour. The young Swede has been fighting his addiction throughout the events according to this online report from The Vineyard.com.”

  The screen switches to a graphic computer with a clip of Dagney Van Der Vine standing in the lobby of the Fo
ur Seasons shouting into a microphone. It looks like it was shot right after I saw her.

  “Here at the Four Seasons a source close to the Eliott House entourage confirms August Kalle has spent the last few days locked in his hotel room in intensive rehab after a near overdose the night of his sold-out reading in Philadelphia. He wouldn’t grant us an interview but Marcus Eliott has denied these reports as quote, ‘categorically false’ and claims someone is misleading our reporters. But, the fact remains no one has seen Kalle in days and Eliott House does have Dr. Cecil DeLong, a world famous addiction specialist, on the payroll for this trip.”

  August clicks the TV remote through a few more channels before turning the set off. The plane shimmies a lot more than a big airliner until we get off the ground. “I do not like that woman.”

  “What woman?”

  “Dagney Whats-Her-Name who works with Mr. Davis. She butchers words and uses them to degrade, to harm. She has no respect for the craft of fine words.”